


standing ground

by v3ilfire



Series: i fought the war, but the war won [4]
Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-21
Updated: 2017-05-21
Packaged: 2018-11-03 04:28:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10959660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/v3ilfire/pseuds/v3ilfire
Summary: Fenris had been in Kirkwall for nearly six months, and he had to admit that something about the bravado of his new companions was rubbing off on him. There were days he almost felt … not safe, exactly, but less immediately haunted by demons in Tevinter garb, both real and imagined. The unfortunate downside of becoming used to a small band of hyper-active drunks was that he was quicker to notice the quiet.And his stolen mansion was silent.





	standing ground

**Author's Note:**

> i can hear y'all groaning but i'm back in my comfort zone and it's time to rework some things. unfortunately for everyone involved i've had some time to become even more brazen and now i'm ready to slash the canon into ribbons and weave a beautiful basket for myself.

Fenris had been in Kirkwall for nearly six months, and he had to admit that something about the bravado of his new companions was rubbing off on him. There were days he almost felt … not safe, exactly, but less _immediately_ haunted by demons in Tevinter garb, both real and imagined. The unfortunate downside of becoming used to a small band of hyper-active drunks was that he was quicker to notice the quiet.

And his stolen mansion was _silent_. So silent that he heard everything between the strange ambiance of Hightown muffled by stone walls to the spine-shivering creak of a door as it was blown ajar by a draft. He was getting better at reasoning himself out of such frights, especially if a few glasses of wine made him particularly brazen, but on that night he just so happened to be out of everything but the Aggregio. All that was left for him to do was sit bolt upright in his chair and stare at a dwindling fire, hands curled tightly over his knees to create _just_ enough discomfort to ground him. Each time he heard something, his heart shot into his throat, but he forced himself to stay still.

Even as the groan of a floorboard robbed him of breath, he closed his eyes and reassured himself that it was nothing, and if it was _something_ , he could defend himself.

Even as the rattle of a windowpane began to press down on his chest, he held himself and his focused gaze in place (though too aware of the shining edge of his sword in his periphery).

Even as the whistle of a gust quickened his pulse, he gripped his knees tighter and forced himself to swallow past the stone resting in his throat.

It was the faint clink of armor at his front door that launched Fenris out of his seat, bare feet audibly hitting cold stone. _Just a guard_ , he told himself, but until he pressed his ear to the wood and heard Aveline’s steady, muffled commentary on the seedier gangs in the area, he remained unconvinced. He stayed pressed against the door, unable to make out any of the conversation over his disheveled state but nonetheless in desperate need to be _sure_ , to know that if something _did_ appear out of a creak or a groan or a rattle, that Aveline was _right there_. Aveline would not let them take him.

He did not dare move a muscle until he heard the guards’ footsteps fade fully away from his doorstep, at which point the wave of exhaustion pulled him under so swiftly that he found himself robbed of any further ability to panic. There was some comfort in the fact that it wasn’t a long way back to his bedroom ( _a mattress thrown in the middle of a possibly-haunted library_ , as Hawke had pointed out), though he resented knowing that he would most likely sleep past noon as his body tried to rectify his brain’s transgressions.

Still, he was safe another night, and so far freedom had proven worth the price.

The sudden clatter of metal against stone just outside the kitchen entrance seized him so violently that he couldn’t quite recall when he managed to grab his sword or bolt to the old wooden door. He stood there waiting, teeth clenched, knuckles white, and some part of him was even vaguely aware that the lines etched into his skin were pulsing blue just below the surface.

Fenris did not know how long he stayed staring at a locked and bolted door; he only became aware of himself when he felt his arms and legs begin to shake, his heart banging against his insides with such fervor that he _felt_ it in his ears more than heard it. The fear had taken him so completely that he didn’t even know that his breath had escaped him until he found himself struggling to catch it.

In his heart of hearts, he knew the sound had most likely been innocuous, but he’d had just _one_ fright too many that night, and so he had to be sure. He eased the locks with trembling hands, each scrape of metal against metal far too grating for his delicate state, and slowly pressed the handle. If anyone _was_ watching him they’d probably find it ridiculous that he stood frozen for a time, reasoning out the best way to check on his possible assailant. Should he open it quickly, sword at the ready, or make an attempt at stealth and ease the old thing open? Were these the hinges that squealed with all the gusto of a pig lead to slaughter, or had the previous tenants oiled them with care?

Inspiration hit when he heard the surefire sound of armor against stone again. The door gave with a telling screech and his sword knocked the opposing one clean out of Hesta’s hand. Its landing in the alley was loud enough on its own, but she watched it scrape noisily along to a sudden stop _just_ outside the sloping cut of a shadow.

A guard asked _what was that_ ? and suddenly he was turned around only to be shoved promptly back inside his kitchen.. Fenris was about as angry as he was confused, but just as he whirled around to ask just _why_ Hawke was lurking outside his back door in the middle of the night, she pressed a finger to her lips and shushed him. He watched her standing there, tense, leaning against his door with one hand pressed just below the handle and the other still acting as a reminder for him to _hush_ , blue eyes drawn to the floor as if he was too distracting to look at while she listened for the guards outside.

Not Aveline this time, but thankfully someone too tired to put much stock in a stray dagger found near an “abandoned” old mansion.

As soon as she dropped her hand, he opened his mouth. “What are you doing here, Hawke?”  
She pushed herself off the door only to slump all her weight on one leg and cross her arms loosely over her chest. “Taking a walk.”  
“You live in Lowtown.”  
“Taking a long walk,” she shrugged, grinning. Fenris wished she’d keep her glibness to daylight hours.  
“Hawke.”  
“I’m still on farmhand time. My body thinks it’s time for the bean harvest.” Fenris’s frown must have been impressive because before he could fling any further accusations at her, she dropped her arms to her sides and rolled her eyes. “I was standing guard.”

The anger slipped out of his grasp and left him only with confusion. Fenris had been expecting something more along the lines of _drunk_ or _wanted to prank him_ or any number of explanations that fell short of _standing guard_. Again, his face must have done most of the talking for him, because she went on to explain unprompted. “Varric keeps an ear to the ground for rumors of slavers in the area. When we hear something, Aveline trades for the first night shift in Hightown, and I take over when she leaves. We even pay Isabela to keep an extra eye on some of the … remote places to dock.”  
“ _Why?_ ” he blurted out.  
“Because you’re one of us,” she said, as if it was obvious. As if he should have just known that there was a complicated network in place just to keep him safe. “We just thought you’d feel weird about it if we told you.”  
He probably would have. He didn’t know how he felt about them _knowing_ that ahead of time. “I… don’t know what to say.”  
Hesta shrugged. “You’re sharp. You’ll figure it out.”

There was something strange about the way she was looking at him. Fenris deflated when he realized that it was a _dagger joke_. “You’re right,” she conceded. “I could do better. Still, better to take a _stab_ at it than let the opportunity slip by.”  
Thankfully she was prepared for his reaction and simply moved aside for him to open the door and show her out. “Good night, Hawke.”  
“Your words are as _cutting_ as always,” she laughed, mindful of the broken threshold on her way into the alley.

Fenris had almost closed the door when he realized he’d forgotten something _critically_ important.  
“Wait, Hawke!” he called into the dark. For a moment he was afraid she’d already gone, but just as soon as he began to think he’d missed her, she stepped backwards into his sights and hummed inquisitively. “I … thank you.”  
“Think nothing of it. What’s the point of friends if not to watch each others’ backs?” Fenris was quick to blame the night’s panics for the slight quirk in his pulse. Surely the way Hesta’s eyes creased when she smiled at him had nothing to do with it. She took off without waiting for an answer, which left him both dumbfounded and alone with a storm of new, unfamiliar feelings he could only identify on an academic level. Except for, of course, the sinking feeling that came from the sudden realization that Hawke had snuck one last _point_ joke clean past him.

That one he knew entirely too well.


End file.
